


a few red lights, a few old beds

by glorious_spoon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Cabin Fic, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: Steve let out a shaky breath, feeling like he was standing on the brink of—something. Something dangerous and insanely stupid, if historical precedent was anything to go by.So, basically, his specialty.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67
Collections: Mistletoe Exchange 2020





	a few red lights, a few old beds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gothyringwald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/gifts).



> Title from 'Smoke on the Water' by Deep Purple.
> 
> With many thanks to **themoonwheniamlost** for the beta!

“If you don’t stop flailing around and let me sleep, I’m gonna fucking smother you,” Billy said from the other side of the bed.

It was sometime past three in the morning, so the annoyance in his voice was probably justified. Steve flopped over with deliberate force anyway, creaking the springs of the sagging mattress. “This thing feels like it’s full of rocks. I'm trying to get comfortable. You don’t like it, go sleep in the car.”

“It’s fifteen fucking degrees outside.”

“That’s not my problem.” He flopped over again, pulling the blanket with him as much as he could with Billy laying on the other end of it. It was a lot warmer than fifteen degrees in the cabin, but still a long way from actually _warm_ , despite the smoky fire that Billy had managed to build in the tiny wood stove after they’d unpacked. Even with the sweatshirt and layers of socks he was wearing, his extremities were freezing. The only thing that made it bearable was the way Billy was giving off heat like a furnace from the other side of the bed, albeit a cranky and borderline homicidal one.

“Remind me again why I agreed to do this,” he grumbled, tucking his knees up against his body like he could conserve his limited heat that way.

“Because you’re dick-whipped by some fourteen-year-old geek who thinks he can get in radio contact with a secret base in Russia from out here in the sticks.”

Steve rolled his eyes at the dark ceiling. “Would it kill you to quit being an asshole for like five minutes? Besides, that doesn’t explain what _you’re_ doing here. Other than annoying the shit out of me.”

“Literally fuckin’ anything is better than being in my dad’s house right now,” Billy said. “Even your whiny ass hogging all the covers and bitching all night.”

“I could punch you in the face, if that would make this more comfortable for you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that went so well for you the last time.” Billy sounded pretty amused, though. The bed shifted as he rolled, blankets sliding down over his bare shoulders. Fucker wasn’t even wearing an undershirt. In the dim moonlight, Steve could see the fading starburst of scar tissue below his shoulder, muscles shifting smoothly as he reached for something on the night-stand. His eyes caught for a moment on the broad expanse of pale freckled skin, before he forced them away.

He didn’t really _want_ to be looking at Billy like that, and most of the time he could stop himself. It was different at the moment, in the dark cabin with its one queen-sized bed. Billy had been the one to suggest sharing, and had looked at Steve like he’d grown a second head when he suggested flipping a coin to see who’d sleep on the floor.

_“No fuckin’ way I’m sleeping on the floor. You can sleep down there, or you can stop being a fucking freak and just sleep in the bed.”_

Problem was, Steve was a fucking freak. A little bit for looking at a guy like that, and a lot for looking at _Billy_ like that even after the motherfucker had given him two black eyes and a concussion on the floor of the Byers house two years back. They’d reached a truce that was almost trending toward friendly these days, but he knew that would change in a fucking hurry if Billy ever got wind of the fact that Steve sometimes jerked off to the thought of sucking his dick.

There was the _snick_ of a lighter, the sudden sharp smell of nicotine, and Billy flopped back against the pillow with a cigarette between his lips, the glowing cherry lighting up the planes of his face.

“You’re such a cliche, man,” Steve said.

Billy grinned around the cigarette, then plucked it out of his mouth, blew out a plume of smoke into the dark room, and held it out to Steve. “Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll share.”

 _Jesus._ Steve took the cigarette, wildly grateful that the dim light hid his blush. It was an unfiltered Marlboro Red, which Billy favored because he really _was_ a total fucking cliche, and the taste was hot and harsh on his tongue. He breathed out smoke and passed it back into Billy’s warm hand.

“Shoulda brought some whiskey or something,” Billy said after they’d been smoking in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He took a final drag from the cigarette and handed it back. “Maybe then I’d be able to warm up enough to fucking sleep.”

“You cold?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, although he really wasn’t anymore. His blood felt thin and hot, a jittery rush making his hands shake slightly. It was probably at least partly the unaccustomed hit of nicotine, but not all. “It’s fucking freezing in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Not really.” Billy leaned over again to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray on the night-stand, then slid back into bed. He shifted around for a minute, then rolled toward Steve and lifted the blankets slightly. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here, if you’re cold.” When Steve still hesitated, Billy made a huffing noise, then said, “Fuck it, forget about it. Freeze your ass off, see if I care.”

He was clearly trying to sound indifferent, and he mostly managed it. Mostly. There was a faint crack in his voice on the last word, though. Steve let out a shaky breath, feeling like he was standing on the brink of—something. Something dangerous and insanely stupid, if historical precedent was anything to go by.

So, basically, Steve’s specialty.

“Okay fine,” he said before he could think better of it, and shuffled under the blankets until he was huddled close to Billy, his broad body a long line of heat against Steve’s right side. Billy twitched slightly, like maybe he hadn’t really expected Steve to actually do it, then stilled. Steve rolled onto his side so that he was facing Billy. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, and there was a definite crack in his voice now. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and it was true. He could feel heat sinking into him even though all the layers of clothes he suddenly wished he wasn’t wearing. Even though they were barely touching. Just incidental contact: Billy’s knees and bony ankles against Steve’s legs, his hair on the pillow. The brush of his knuckles against Steve’s sternum when he moved his hand. “Thanks.”

He could feel Billy nod, as close as they were; could feel the soft tangle of his hair. Could smell him, cigarettes and cheap cologne, and it definitely shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was. God, he was _fucked._

Billy shifted against him; his knees bumped against Steve’s again. They were face to face in the darkness, sharing breath; Billy’s eyes were open, wide and luminous. He settled his hand in the narrow stretch of mattress between them, shifted again, then rested it gingerly on Steve’s hip. It felt heavy, as hot as a brand where the side of his thumb just brushed bare skin where Steve’s shirt had ridden up.

Steve breathed in sharply and felt Billy start to jerk his hand away. Before he could think better of it, he grabbed for it, flattening it down against his skin. Felt Billy’s fingers twitch convulsively, digging in. The moment seemed to stretch out for a breathless eternity before Steve abruptly lost his patience, or possibly his mind.

“Okay, fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, and surged forward to kiss Billy on the lips.

Billy made a shocked sound against his mouth, and Steve had a moment of actual genuine panic that he’d completely misread this and was about the get his ass kicked at best and straight up fucking _murdered_ at worst. Then Billy’s fingers dug in deep enough to bruise and he hauled Steve in closer, tilting his head and opening his mouth to turn the kiss slick and wet and dirty.

 _Zero to sixty in six seconds flat_ , Steve thought, and he would have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that Billy’s tongue was in his mouth and that kind of demanded his full attention. He’d never kissed a guy before, and in some ways it wasn’t that different, but the stubbly plane of Billy’s cheek under his palm, the smell of his cologne, the weight of his body when he rolled Steve onto his back without breaking the kiss—those were all different.

The erection pushing insistently against his hip when Billy rocked down against him: also very fucking different.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled against Billy’s mouth without fully breaking the kiss. Because— _holy shit._ Billy was hard from this, just from kissing, just from pressing down against Steve. It was enough to make Steve push his hips up, swallowing an embarrassing noise at the catch and pull of fabric, at the feel of Billy’s hot, muscular body on top of him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy mumbled, but he didn’t pull away or stop rutting against Steve.

“ _You_ shut the fuck up,” Steve retorted stupidly, and broke the kiss only to tangle his fingers in Billy’s hair and tug his head to the side enough to suck a mark into the hollow beneath his ear.

Billy jerked against him, then grabbed both of Steve’s wrists in his and slammed them back against the bed. A hot jolt of arousal shuddered through him, sending his thoughts scattering. He was moaning against Billy’s throat, and he could feel Billy’s breath coming hot and fast against his ear, and the thought occurred to him that he could come like this, just like this, pinned down on the mattress and humping against Billy like a fucking virgin or something.

“Fuck, what the fuck,” he mumbled, then took Billy’s earlobe between his teeth and bit gently, then not so gently when Billy shuddered and made a strangled noise against his throat. “Give my hand back, man, I need to—”

He wrestled one hand free and reached between them to shove it down the front of Billy’s sweatpants. His cock was so hard, leaking at the tip, and the sound he made when Steve rubbed his thumb curiously over the head was ragged and wounded and _perfect_.

A moment later, Billy had released his other wrist and his hands were down between them too, shoving awkwardly at both their clothes until their pants and boxers were pushed down just enough that they could rut against each other. Billy pulled away enough to spit unceremoniously on his palm, then took both their cocks in his hand, a clumsy handjob barely slicked by sweat and spit that was still somehow one of the hottest things Steve had ever experienced. The rough slide of hot skin and Billy’s callused palm, the swallowed noises he kept making against Steve’s ear. Steve let his head thunk back against the pillow and stared up at Billy: braced on one strong arm while his other hand worked their cocks together. His mouth parted softly and his eyebrows pinched like he was in the best kind of pain.

“What the fuck,” Steve murmured again, and there was a degree of awe to it now. “How are you so hot, what the _fuck—”_

He felt Billy start to come apart a moment before it happened: the stutter in the rhythm of his thrusts, the shudder rolling up his spine. Then the pulse of his cock between them: slickness and sudden heat, and Steve felt his hips jerk up as Billy collapsed against him, his heart beating so hard that Steve could feel his pulse jumping. His hand, still trapped between them, still squeezing his pulsing cock against Steve’s. Steve slung a leg over his thigh to pin them close and rocked up against him until that building heat broke and sent the world scattering for a blissful, thoughtless moment.

He didn’t know how long they clung together afterwards before Billy finally rolled away, leaving his front unpleasantly cold. Steve flung an arm over his eyes, trying to get his brain back in gear to prepare for the inevitable shitstorm to come, but instead Billy just leaned off the bed and groped on the dark floor until he came up with a piece of cloth that Steve identified a moment later as the Judas Priest concert t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier. He cleaned himself off roughly, hesitated, then tossed it to Steve.

“Thanks, man,” Steve said. His voice felt raw, sounded rough. He felt like he probably should have been panicking by now, but the afterglow was kind of making it hard to work up a good head of steam. He cleaned himself off, tugged his sweatpants back up, and handed the shirt back to Billy, who gave him an incredulous look before dropping it back onto the floor.

“So, uh,” Steve said, and stopped. He scrubbed both hands through his hair, then sat up carefully as Billy sank back down onto the bed. “That happened.”

Billy nodded. He wasn’t looking at Steve; his back was one long line of tension. When Steve settled a careful hand on his shoulder, he flinched visibly.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you…” Steve started to say, then stopped himself. “Come on. It’s still fucking freezing out there, get back in here before we both turn into icicles.”

There’s a moment where he thought Billy might storm off, or possibly shove _Steve_ out of the bed, but then he flopped down on his pillow, yanking his pants up and then the blankets over them.

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Fine by me,” Steve said. “You change your mind about sleeping on the floor?”

“If one of us is sleeping on the floor, it sure as shit isn’t gonna be me,” Billy said, sounding relieved. Then he rolled toward Steve, lifting the blankets again. “Just because it’s fucking freezing out.”

“Thought you weren’t cold,” Steve said, curling against him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy said, but he didn’t protest when Steve slung an arm over his ribs and tucked his cold nose into his shoulder.

“You shut up,” Steve mumbled, and closed his eyes.


End file.
